d unsociable man, with a deaf old
housekeeper, although he had achieved a considerable reputation among his
patients in the neighbouring by-streets. But his practice was not wholly
confined to the poorer classes, for he was often consulted by
well-dressed members of the foreign colony--on account, probably, of his
linguistic attainments. A foreigner with an imperfect knowledge of
English naturally prefers a doctor to whom he can speak in his own
tongue. Therefore, as Weirmarsh spoke French, Italian and Spanish with
equal fluency, it was not surprising that he had formed quite a large
practice among foreign residents.

His appearance, however, was the reverse of prepossessing, and his
movements were often most erratic. About his aquiline face was a shrewd
and distrustful expression, while his keen, dark eyes, too narrowly set,
were curiously shifty and searching. When absent, as he often was, a
young fellow named Shipley acted as locum tenens, but so eccentric was
he that even Shipley knew nothing of the engagements which took him from
home so frequently.

George Weirmarsh was a man of few friends and fewer words. He lived for
himself alone, devoting himself assiduously to his practice, and doing
much painstaking writing at the table whereat he now sat, or else, when
absent, travelling swiftly with aims that were ever mysterious.

He had had a dozen or so patients that evening, but the last had gone,
and he had settled himself to read the letter which had arrived when his
little waiting-room had been full of people.

As he read he made scribbled notes on a piece of paper upon his
blotting-pad, his thin, white hand, delicate as a woman's, bearing that
splendid ruby ring, his one possession in which he took a pride.

"Ah!" he remarked to himself in a hard tone of sarcasm, "what fools the
shrewdest of men are sometimes over a woman! So at last he's fallen--like
the others--and the secret will be mine. Most excellent! After all, every
man has one weak point in his armour, and I was not mistaken."

Then he paused, and, leaning his chin upon his hand, looked straight
before him, deep in reflection.

"I have few fears--very few," he remarked to himself, "but the greatest
is of Walter Fetherston. What does he know?--that's the chief question.
If he has discovered the truth--if he knows my real name and who I
am--then the game's up, and my best course is to leave England. And yet
there is another way," he went on, speaking